In France
by anne-benedicte
Summary: sequel of "In the Eurostar" ...what Bernie did in Paris, and a glimpse of a war zone ; Bernie is en route to Serena's place (the story runs parallel to Meanwhile in Provence)
1. Chapter 1

Marcus and Bernie had very different notions of what constituted a good time – indeed, they had not shared many leisure moments before their honeymoon. Marcus had been three years ahead of her in medical school, already specializing in surgery when she had still been completing her training in general medicine. Their romance would never have existed otherwise, reflected Bernie, because he had always enjoyed being better than her, being able to teach her things. He'd wanted her to remain in general practice, or maybe to specialize in a more feminine subject like ob-gyn or maybe dermatology. He'd always said he'd fallen in love with her brain as much as with her beauty, but if she showed signs of outsmarting him, he would sulk for hours. That had been one of the first points of contention during the honeymoon – Marcus couldn't speak a word of French, and he resented the fact that she was able to understand the menus, the waiters, and even the newspapers. Moreover, he had planned the trip very carefully: he had wanted to impress her, to take her shopping in the Rue Saint-Honoré where all the couturiers were, to the Louvre and the Musée d'Orsay, and had booked for diner at La Tour d'Argent and on the bateaux-mouches.

She wanted to stroll casually in untouristy areas, to drink coffee and diabolos menthe in cafés, to have candlelit diners in small restaurants. She'd never liked dressing up, always felt more at ease in slacks and shirts, and she had no time for museums. Facing Marcus at their table at La Tour d'Argent, uncomfortable in a new black dress, she had looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time, and had the sense that something, once again, was "wrong". Being with someone during lectures, the occasional Sunday afternoons, and drinking in students' bars may not have been a good preparation for marriage. She had been seduced by the young doctor who was so self-assured and so evidently in love with her. She had not known how to refuse him when he'd asked for her hand in marriage, because after all, it'd seemed like the perfect match. He was clever, ambitious, handsome, his family was well-off, and he obviously cared for her. And so she had let her guard down, forgotten her decision never to trust or rely on anybody ever again, and she'd accepted his offer.

And yet, on that evening, over foie gras and sole à la normande, she did not feel "cared for" – she felt smothered and bent out of shape, as if Marcus had been trying to fit her round shape into a square hole. She had felt panic rising – she was not sure who she was anymore – she had been so many people in her life – she was like a Russian doll, so many people in the same body – her mother's little girl, loved and protected, her Miss invisible persona from her boarding school days, her wry, can-do character from university, and now ? Marcus' project ? Marcus' Galatea ?

Charlotte had been conceived in that hotel room – Marcus had not wanted to use protection with his bride, and she felt secure in the knowing that she'd swallowed her little white pill every morning – getting pregnant while still in medical school had not been part of her plan. However, the little white pill had not worked its magic, and as a month later she'd felt nauseous every morning, she knew that her carefully laid plans for her future would need some alterations. Marcus was working in Bristol, in his first year as a neuro-surgeon, she was in her F1 year at Gloucester Hospital, and they were living in a family home Marcus had inherited in Cheltenham, near his parents' house. She was lucky enough to be able to work till two weeks before the birth, and two more weeks later, she was back on the wards. It certainly was not ideal, but she had no choice if she wanted to graduate, and her mother-in-law was there to help with the baby. That too had hurt ...to be told her daughter had taken her first steps with Grandma, to be the last one to hear her daughter's first words, not to be there for her first day at Nursery School.

And then, three years later, Cameron had arrived – by then she was beginning her specialization as trauma surgeon, and once again, the timing could have been better. Marcus was earning good money, and they were able to afford a full-time au pair. He had also found a position at Cheltenham Hospital, and so was able to be home more often. The birth had been more difficult, she'd had to have a cesarean, and to stop work for three months. Bernie reflected that all this might be why Charlotte did not want to talk to her anymore, while Cameron was magnanimous enough to accept working with her. The bonding process with her son had been easier, she'd had more time with him, more oxytocin-forming days.

"On y est – 30 euros, s'il vous plaît »

Bernie was jolted out of her musings – she gathered her wits and her bags, paid the driver, and got out of the cab at the Gare de Lyon. She was too early for the Aix-en-Provence TGV, so she decided to have another coffee and something to eat . She stopped in one of the brasseries facing the station, and asked for breakfast – it was still only ten in the morning, even though she felt exhausted. She was just about to bite into her buttered baguette when her eyes were caught by two Romanian kids begging on the café's terrace. For just one nano-second, the little girl – she couldn't have been more than six or seven – caught Bernie's glance, and they looked straight into each other's eyes. Bernie put the bread back on her plate, untouched. A wave of nausea submerged her, and her head began throbbing painfully. Those blue eyes …she was back in Kandahar, a few weeks into her mission there. She had been on her way to a field hospital, and as she was not driving, looking idly around her – they had been approaching a village that had looked relatively unscarred, and children were playing football with what appeared to be a can. One minute they were kicking their improvised ball, cheering each other on – the next , their cries were drowned by an explosion noise. She and her colleague ran towards the children, who were lying on the ground – three of them, just little kids. One of them was already dead, half of his upper body having been torn off by the mine. Another one appeared untouched, but he had been carried several yards away by the force of the blast, and as Bernie checked for a pulse, she already knew it was no use – there was no way he could have survived the impact. The third one was breathing, although his left leg was no more than a mangle of flesh. Bernie managed to suture the leg, stopping the hemorrhage, and she thought she would at least be able to save one. It was a small boy, obviously malnourished, so his age was difficult to determine, he could have been anything between five and ten. As she was checking his pulse, he looked straight into her eyes, his own large baby-blue saucers in a sunken face, and stopped breathing. She performed CPR, desperately trying to resuscitate him, and stopped only when her colleague put a hand on her shoulder and said "It's over – he's gone".

On that day, when she got back to camp in the evening, she went back to her room – more a cell than a room, in fact, as they were tiny spaces with only a bed and a closet, and curled up on her bed in the fetal positions, in the dark. She did not bother to get up on the next morning. She just remained there, a tight ball of misery and anger. On the next evening, someone knocked at her door, and came in, not waiting for an answer. She would have shouted at the intruder to go away, to leave her alone, but even that was impossible. It felt as if her voice, her words, her feelings, her emotions had been swallowed by the blast. The intruder came to sit on the bed, and began stroking her hair, gently, persistently, till Bernie felt herself uncurl slowly. A few moments later, she was sobbing her heart out on Alex's shoulder. Alex embraced her tightly, and Bernie clung to her desperately. She had not shed a tear since the day of the teddy bear.

(to be continued)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A group of noisy tourists settling down at the table next to hers jostled Bernie out of her trance. She forced herself to eat her breakfast, as she knew that after a sleepless night, even numerous coffees wouldn't be able to see her through the day. She needed food and especially sugar. She also took the time for a quick cigarette break – she was in two minds about that habit of hers… Obviously, as a doctor, she was all too aware of the risks, and did not really relish the thought of dying from lung cancer. Then again, cigarettes were a great comfort in times of stress, and we were all going to die anyway, weren't we? But there was also a little voice in her head telling her that she was only doing that because Marcus had wanted her to stop, and there was no way she would submit to his wishes anymore. Childish much ? Maybe …

Stubbing out her fag – it was the last one from the pack Marcus had found in his drawer and given her back, she walked towards the platform. In the middle of August, Gare de Lyon was crammed full with tourists and holiday-makers – children running everywhere, frantic parents with huge suitcases and cat baskets, and the inevitable groups of pensioners – why did they choose the middle of the school holidays to travel, for goodness' sake?! She managed to make her way through to her TGV, and settled in her seat with a newspaper. Her eyelids felt heavy – she had not slept for two nights in a row, as she had been on the night shift, and last night had been spent packing and filling out various admin papers. She tried to close her eyes, but she was just falling asleep when she was disturbed by children's cries – a family of three was fighting over the seats – they all wanted the seat near Mummy… She heard the mother soothing them, offering biscuits all round and a favorite cartoon on a tablet, and peace was restored. If only things were so simple when your children were grown-ups… Cameron seemed to enjoy himself in London, and he had always been a mummy's boy anyways, even though she'd never been mom of the year. Even as a child, he'd been pacified easily – chocolate buttons worked nearly every time. Or that's what she told herself anyways. It was easier to believe that than to dwell on what Marcus had thrown at her on THAT day at Holby …

What a bloody mess she'd made of things… In a world of rainbows and unicorns, her secret would have been well-kept, and she and Marcus would have re-kindled their marriage, and lived happily ever after for twenty-five more years. He would have lived happily ever after, anyways, and she might have been able to endure it. She could have gone back to Kabul, or to another war zone – absence made the heart grow fonder, and it was certainly what had enable them to stay together for so long. When she came back home, Bernie enjoyed being with her children and her husband, being part of a family. She and Marcus talked a lot, and he could be very tender in bed, although their love-making was never scintillating. It had taken her a long time to get used to his touch, his caresses – her outer Russian doll did not easily feel, and he had never reached her inner doll, the fragile, sensitive one. But after a few days at home, she usually began to look forward to her departure, a longing feeling mixed with guilt and despair. Marcus had accused her of being heartless, of not caring – "Did you ever think of our children, glued to the television, wondering whether you would get killed?" Yes, she did. And it hurt. It hurt a lot, even. But less than the thought that whatever she did, she would never be happy, she would never have the right to be happy. She loved them – all three of them – of course she did! After all, that was why she'd wanted to keep her affair a secret – or was it? If she was honest with herself, it was only part of it. She did not want to hurt Marcus – but she was even more afraid of hurting herself.

When Bernie had woken up, two days after the child had died in her arms, Alex was not in the room anymore. Exhausted by crying, she had fallen asleep in the early morning hours, and she felt definitely rough – and confused – and awkward – and angry with herself. Angry with Alex too. She did not know the other medic very well, as Alex had worked on another base, and had only recently joined the team. The idea of having broken down in the arms of a stranger was unbearable. Since her mother's death, she had shied from the human touch. It had been hard for her to let Marcus in, but she'd managed it because Marcus had only reached "Bernie" – her public persona, the outwardly self-assured and confident woman. He'd never had access to her inner Berenice, the one who was able to emote and to show her vulnerability. Just by hugging her, Alex had reached Berenice – and that was terribly scary …

Therefore, when Bernie made her appearance in the mess that morning, she poured herself a big mug of coffee, and studiously avoided the table where Alex was seated, choosing to join other people of her team. When she saw Alex getting up and walking towards her, she left and walked out before the other woman could reach her. She had gained a few hours' respite, but she knew very well the situation couldn't go on forever. They had to work and live together, and she would have to be grown up about it. But the fear was overwhelming. Every time she had allowed another woman to get close, it had ended in sorrow and betrayal. The last time, she had been thirteen, but the wounds were still smarting. The other one had even had an air of Alex about her – both of them had been tall, thin, confident brunettes, with a somewhat brusque manner hiding an empathetic nature. Miss Wilson had been her chemistry teacher, and she had noticed her invisible pupil's misery. She had tried to draw Berenice out, asking her to help with tidying up the lab benches after class, thus providing them with opportunities to talk. It had worked, and Berenice, although she had not mentioned the bullying, which anyways by then had almost stopped, had let herself drawn into talking about her father, and his attitude to her. Her feeling of being a constant disappointment to him, of never being good enough. Miss Wilson had never hugged her, but she had sometimes put her hand on her shoulder, and that had made Berenice feel secure. However, it had all gone wrong, because Miss Wilson had apparently written to her father, praising Berenice, but suggesting that he could be a little more lenient, and that good marks weren't everything. The letter had arrived at a particularly bad time too, as Berenice had been in the sick bay for two days, missing lessons, and she had not been able to revise for a Latin exam, thus earning herself a very exceptional F. As bad luck would have it, the fortnightly grade report and Miss Wilson's letter had arrived at her father's posting at the same time. Berenice had been called to the school secretary's office to take a phone call from her father. He never rang, and she was completely unprepared for his violent tirade. He had accused her of being selfish, ungrateful, lazy, he had asked how she'd dared to complain about him, said her mother would have been ashamed of her behavior, and had rang off, leaving her thunderstruck and speechless. The secretary must have told Miss Wilson about the phone call, because the latter had come to see Berenice, and apologized for the letter. It had been the last time Berenice had confided in a teacher, and in anyone, for that matter.

Alex felt like a threat of an unknown nature, and yet she had felt safe in her arms. Both feelings fought in Bernie's head, and she hoped to avoid Alex until her mind decided on her being a friend or a foe. She managed it for a few days, but one morning, the first person she met when she came out of the shower was Alex, brushing her teeth at the sink. Alex gave her a tentative smile, and Bernie buried her head in a towel, pretending to dry her hair. She felt tongue-tied, like in her school days. The younger woman, however, was not: "Look, I don't know what I've done to you, but you've been treating me like a leper! Did you see the noticeboard? We're going to be working together today, so I hope you can at least be in the same place as me for a day?"

Bernie remained silent. Alex went on: "If you're afraid I'm going to blab about your crying, don't be. It happens to everyone one day or another. I know you've got the reputation of being a tough one, I get it! Would you really rather I'd let you blub on your own ?"

"I'm sorry", murmured Bernie. "It's not that …It's just …"

(to be continued)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 5

And once again, she turned tails and fled. When she saw Alex again, a few hours later, it was over the body of a twenty-two-years-old soldier. Corporal Martins had just arrived on their base a fortnight before. He had been Bernie's driver once or twice, and he'd shared his life story with her. He'd been studying for a degree in Physical Education at the University of Kent, hoping to become a teacher. His twin brother was at the same university, studying Mathematics. They'd both been engaged to lovely girls, and his brother's fiancée had been expecting a child. They were planning on getting married on the same day. One night, they'd gone out for a drink, celebrating his brother's practical placement's success. The evening had been a joyous occasion – they had so much to look forward to…Their car was hit by a drunken driver – it rolled over twice, and ended up on the railings – John Martins escaped unscathed, and his brother's fiancée with only superficial injuries. John's fiancée died on the spot. John's twin died in A&E in the small hours of the morning. Two days later, John had enlisted. He had so much anger into him that he could not go back to his former life.

Now, Corporal John Martins was lying on a makeshift operating table. His left leg had been blown off by a landmine, and he had extensive damage to his liver and kidneys. Bernie and Alex operated in silence – they both knew their job, and except for very short exchanges, they had no need to speak. They knew that the young soldier had little chance of surviving. After three hours of surgery, they managed to suture the leg wound, to remove part of the liver and one kidney. John's condition was stable, although his pulse was weak. Both women were exhausted. The strain of the operation, of course, but also the morning's unfinished episode.

Against all odds, Corporal Martins survived. Bernie's reputation, which had already been good, became formidable. And yet, she'd never felt more unsettled. Now she and Alex both avoided each other. Avoidance must run in the family, reflected Bernie. Charlotte was doing a great job of avoiding her… She knew her daughter had been shaken by the fact that she'd cheated on Marcus. Charlotte had always been more of a daddy's girl. He'd spoilt her, of course, and she'd been in adoration before him. Painful memories came back to Bernie. She remembered coming back home – by then home was Marcus' parents' house, which he had inherited after their death. A four- bedrooms terraced house in Cheltenham's Highgrove Crescent. They'd inherited the furniture too, and most of it was definitely not to her taste, but she had had no time for interior designing, and it had not been worth quarrelling with Marcus, who liked the heavy Edwardian dining-table, chairs and dressers. He had furnished the kids' bedrooms too, a princess one for Charlotte, and a pirate one for Cameron. On that day, she'd been absent for about a month, and she'd been eager to see the children, to hug them, to love them. Charlotte must have been about nine, and Cameron six. She'd turned the key into the lock, put her case down into the hall and she'd been hanging up her coat when a small tornado had run into her arms, almost knocking her down. When she'd lifted up her eyes, still with Cameron clinging to her legs, she'd seen Marcus on the foot of the stairs. His smile had been warm, welcoming. Charlotte had been gripping his arms, making no movement towards her. When she had disengaged herself from Cameron and held her arms out to her daughter, Charlotte had buried her head in her father's arms, before shooting Bernie a fiery glance and running up the stairs. Bernie had never forgotten what she'd seen in her daughter's eyes then – hurt, reproach, anger … The same look she'd seen in Elinor's eyes, just before the accident. Of course, Elinor's rage had been directed at Serena, not at her, but all the same …

How would she find Serena? They'd had so little contact during the last months that she really did not know what to expect. Was Serena still grieving? She had not had many counseling sessions, and although Bernie was glad she'd taken a sabbatical, she worried that isolation, even in sunny Provence, might not have been a very good idea. And what if Serena was still in need of comfort – would she be able to provide that? She was tough, but death still triggered in her a self-protection reaction – she closed up. This was probably a good thing in her job – she could not afford to crumple each time she had to tell a family their relative had passed away. When she'd had to tell Serena about Elinor's critical condition, however, she'd cursed herself for her coldness, for her incapacity to show more warmth, more love. She tended to flinch at human touch, like a stray cat wary of strangers. She much preferred to lick her own wounds in private. It was easier, and it did not bother her. But she wished she could be more affectionate, more cuddly. Even putting her hand on a shoulder was hard for her, and yet she could feel it was not enough. She knew it was not enough – "

After a few weeks operating together, they had managed to reach a status quo. Neither of them actively tried to elude the other anymore, but they still avoided being alone in each other's presence or talking. One day, however, they had been outside smoking with other medics when Alex had got a phone call. As she'd walked away from the group, Bernie had watched her, had seen her blanch and bend over, as if she'd received a blow. Then, Alex had strode away quickly. Bernie had excused herself from the group and gone in search of her colleague. She'd found her seated under a tree, her head in her hands.

"Are you all right ?

Of course I'm not bloody all right, Major! Isn't it obvious? But then, in your world, everyone should just grin and bear it, shouldn't they? There's no place for weakness or for emotions. You're so ashamed of acting like a normal person that you ostracize anyone who's had the bad luck of seeing you behave like a real human. Because guess what: normal people feel! They yell, they cry, they have a heart! They care! What's wrong with you ?

Alex lifted her head, and Bernie saw she was crying. Although she felt like running away and hiding, she sat down beside her, and tentatively put her hand on the younger woman's knee. She was wanted to do something, to comfort her, but she didn't know how. Once again, she apologized: "I'm sorry, Alex, I…"

\- Oh, bloody stop apologizing ! Just …just leave me alone !"

Bernie fought the urge to do exactly that. She somehow knew that if she did, something important would be lost forever, for both of them. So, she stayed – she retrieved her hand, and stared straight ahead of her. A few minutes later, Alex spoke again: "The phone call – that was my brother – my father had pancreatic cancer, and he was in palliative care – he died this morning…"

"I'm so sorry", began Bernie, and then stopped, her hand covering her mouth.

"That's ok. I guess that's the usual thing people say on those occasions – although I've always thought it was pretty stupid. I mean, it's not as if you were responsible for my father's death. But thanks."

"Were you close?" asked Bernie.

"Yes, we were. He was proud of my career choice, proud of me really. My mom too, but he's always supported my going into the army. She was terrified something would happen to me."

Alex laid her head on Bernie's shoulder. "I'll have to go home for the funeral. Mom will be devastated." Bernie couldn't think of anything to say, but she didn't move. Then, Alex stood up and left to see her commanding officer and ask for leave. Looking at Bernie, she added: "You'll have to do without your anesthetist for a while, Major – but I'm sure you'll cope…stiff upper lip and all that !"

(to be continued)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 6

The train was getting nearer to its destination, and Bernie was more and more fidgety. First because the seats of the TGV had obviously been conceived either for children or for midgets – she was desperate to stretch her legs – and secondly because she would see Serena in a few hours. Hopefully, by the evening, they would be lounging in deckchair with glasses full of rosé – together at last. She had not told Serena about the closure of the Trauma Unit. She'd just sent a quick email, saying "Feeling like a few days of rest and sunshine – any room for me?" and Serena's answer had been equally brief: "Sunshine waiting for you here – do come". She supposed someone else could have told Serena about the recent events at Holby – Henrik Hanssen, maybe, or Ric, but she had not wanted to explain in a mail, or even on the phone. It seemed so final – and it seemed to jeopardize Serena's eventual return to Holby too.

If Serena didn't know anything, it would mean she would have to tell her that the Trauma Unit did not exist anymore, that Jasmine was dead, and that she herself was going to Sudan. Rather a tall order, even for Major Wolfe … Moreover, she had no idea how she would manage to be in a relationship with Serena if she was in Africa, and Serena in Europe …She had tried that with Marcus, and even though they were on the same continent, it hadn't been ideal…

That was the trouble with love – it struck in the most unexpected places, and there were no rules – and Bernie had always tried to live by the rules – it was so much easier. Alex had been the one to transgress them, and although she had become a willing accomplice, she had definitely not been comfortable with the idea at first. When Alex came back from compassionate leave, Bernie knew that if they were to go on working together, she would have to work on herself first, to understand what the younger woman wanted from her. And that had definitely not been part of Bernie's life plan…

As much as she was used to do things by herself, and to be in control, she found herself missing Alex's presence during her leave. She missed her professional skills, of course, mostly. Somehow, a woman's take on patient care was subtly different from a man's. Bernie did not want to admit to herself that maybe, just maybe, she wanted – needed, even – a friendship. Something more than joking around with the team at mealtimes and sharing info on IED damages, sutures, and infection. Alex came back looking tense and washed out, and although she was as competent as usual with the wounded, she seemed remote and on edge. They did not always operate together. Both of them often went out to various ops sites with other members of the medical team. A few day after Alex's return, a team was called out to another base south of Kandahar, to assist on two operations there . Bernie remained on the base and Alex opted to go out – since her return, she'd been restless, and even more fearless than usual. They were supposed to be back by 4.00 p.m, but by 6.00 there were still no news from them. At 7.45, Bernie's radio beeped, and she was asked to prepare for two heavy casualties – it seemed that the two Land Rovers had been targeted by RPGs and caught in a shower of debris and shrapnel. At least two of the team members were severely wounded. Bernie's first thoughts were for Alex – what if she was … There was no time for ifs, however, and she quickly sorted out the equipment she thought she would need. One of the victims arrived five minutes later, in a critical condition, and she rushed him into theatre. She operated on him almost automatically, keenly aware that her mind wasn't 100% on the job at hand – where was Alex ? What she the other victim, being operated on by the other surgeon in the next room? She managed to stem most of the bleeding, and although she had to amputate an arm, she was fairly confident her patient would survive. He was a stout, ruddy young man – probably a rugby player, or a weight lifter, she reflected. He wouldn't be able to play again now. And as luck would have it, it was his right arm too – he would have to learn how to use his left hand before coming fully back to civi life. As she was tearing off her surgical gown, she suddenly heard his breathing getting shallower. She rushed back to him just as he went into cardiac arrest. After three attempts at resuscitation, she had to admit defeat. Sadly, she closed his eyes and went out of the room. She would never be able to accept the loss of a life easily, especially if she believed she could have done more, done better to save the patient. She slumped down outside the barrack, and put her head in her hands.

"Barton copped it, then ? Poor guy – he was looking forward to going on leave next week" . Alex came to sit beside Bernie. Bernie was aware of a sense of relief at hearing her voice, but she didn't look up. Alex went on: "He was a goner – no one could have saved him – we were in the same vehicle, but he took the brunt of the fire. You're not a miracle worker."

Bernie lifted a wan face towards Alex: "I know I'm not – that's something this place doesn't let you believe for long. But I could have…"

"Stop being so hard on yourself, Major – it doesn't help. You know what they said during training – stay strong, do your best, don't overdo it."

Bernie made a gesture of annoyance: "I know it doesn't. The last thing I need is a damn lecture!"

"Sorry. Do you want to go and get coffee?"

"No – I'm going to my room for a while – I need to be alone."

When Bernie felt angry, she retreated into her shell – she didn't want to talk, she didn't want to be comforted, she just wanted to be by herself. About an hour later, her door opened, and Alex came in with a steaming mug of coffee.

"Please go away. I said I didn't want coffee," said Bernie wearily.

"I know you did- you may not want it, but I think you need it." Alex held the cup towards her. "Thanks", said Bernie grudgingly, as she took the cup and sipped: "My god, that's some coffee ! What did you pour into it, a whole whisky bottle ?"

"Just a little medicinal draught, Bern. Good for shock."

"I'm not in shock – you were the one in the convoy. I'm just …browned-off…" The truth was that Bernie was angry – at Alex, illogically enough, for being safe – at herself, for having worried for nothing, and mostly for having failed to save the soldier. It was always easier for her to blame herself, anyways – that way, the only person you hurt was yourself. She sighed. "Can I be alone now?"

Alex didn't answer, but she sat on the floor beside her, and put her arms around Bernie's shoulder. Bernie's first reaction was to shrug her off, but somehow, her body didn't react in the usual way, and she let herself lean on Alex. And when Alex deposited a light kiss on her brow, and another one on her cheek, and caressed her face, she didn't protest either. It was like an out-of-body experience. She was there, and yet she felt detached, as if she was watching herself in the arms of the younger woman… Truth was to be told, she was feeling quite out of her depth. She had never been attracted to a woman before. She might have had a schoolgirl crush on Miss Wilson, but there had been nothing sexual in it - she had been very naïve about these things then. And then, she'd Marcus, and marrying Marcus fitted into her neat, organized view of the world as it should be. But this was … Alex's touch aroused new feelings in her. New feelings she was astonished to realize she was keen to explore…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 7

She finally reached St Maximin, and parked the car in the main street. She took a deep breath, and heaved a long sigh – this was worse than the battlefield! She tried to imagine how she would impart all the recent ghastly news to Serena, but just couldn't think of a way to soften the blow. Maybe she should do it gradually, and wait for a while. This was probably not a situation where the band-aid method would be optimal…And yet…She sighed again, and reached for another cigarette. Then, she looked at the map, located Serena's villa and started the car again.

Serena must have heard the car coming up on the driveway, because she was outside to greet her. The two women embraced, a little shyly, as if after being apart, they had to start their relationship all over again.

"Let me get my case – I've got Marmite and digestives for you – a little taste of ol' blighty"

"And I've got a bottle of rosé in the fridge – I've gone quite native."

While Serena busied herself in the kitchen, putting glasses and olives on a tray, Bernie watched her anxiously. Was Serena strong enough to hear the news? She seemed better than when she'd left Holby, and she had acquired an almost bronze tan, but …there was still something that seemed "off", somehow. She couldn't exactly pinpoint it. Of course, Eleanor's death was still very recent – not even a year, but …Well, she would just have to tread carefully.

"So, you finally managed to tear yourself from Holby – you look washed out, you must have been working too hard, as usual."

"Well, thanks for the compliment! You know the NHS – never employ new staff if the others haven't worked themselves to death", replied Bernie with a smile – and immediately she wished she could retract her words. What a way to put her foot in it!

" AAU can manage without us for a while", went on Serena. "No one's indispensable".

"That's for sure", muttered Bernie.

"How are the others ? I hope you told Rick I'm waiting for him to visit too."

"Of course I did – but he's got a lot on his plate at the moment."

"Really ?" But Serena didn't seem overly interested and Bernie hurriedly went on : "Everyone's fine – they thank you for the olive oil - although Fletch had a little accident with it, and the cleaning staff was NOT happy."

"Good old Fletch…And what about Jasmine ? Is she happy about her transfer to London ?"

Bernie was trapped – she'd always been a terrible liar, and there was no way she could lie her way out of that anyways. She gathered her courage and tried to soften the blow: "Jasmine is not in London. At the beginning of July, she …well, there was an accident and…" This was awful. It felt like the day Elinor had fallen into a coma all over again. "I'm so sorry, Serena – Jasmine had a scalpel in her pocket, and she … she fell." No need to go into details, this was not the time. "She didn't survive"

Serena was stunned : "If that's your idea of a joke, it's in very poor taste."

"I'm sorry." Repeated Bernie as Serena stared at her. "I'm so sorry – we did our best, but …we just couldn't save her. I just couldn't save her, she'd lost too much blood, and…" She watched Serena anxiously. The other woman sat stock-still and ashen-faced. Then Serena murmured: "If even the great military surgeon did not manage to save her, it must have been quite a fall."

Bernie recoiled, feeling as if she'd been struck. She bit her lips hard, trying to get her emotions back into control. She had to remember Serena was in shock.

"And no one thought of informing me?", went on Serena. "You couldn't have told me?"

"Well, we thought that …so soon after …"

"You thought that poor Serena was already off her rocker, so that might finish her off ?"

"Come on!"

"Or is that why you're here now? You thought your presence might soften the blow? Well, guess what? It doesn't !"

Bernie had been expecting a reaction, but she hadn't prepared herself for such a backlash. She felt deeply wounded by Serena's attitude. She'd come all the way to the South of France to be with her again, and if she was honest with herself, she was also expecting comfort and support from her partner, but this was unbearable. And before she could stop herself, she lashed out: "I guess you could say that I came to be the bearer of bad news all right. Because I've got more for you – there's no more money for the Trauma Unit, so they've closed it down, and I'm out of a job. And in two weeks, I'll be on my way to Sudan! But that might not be such bad news for you if you don't want me with you anymore, anyways!"

She stalked out of the room into the garden, and lit a cigarette. She felt distraught. Once again, she couldn't have handled things more badly.

Serena made as if to follow her, but slumped back in her seat. She couldn't quite believe she'd been so nasty. Anger at having been left out of the hook had taken over, and she'd just reacted in the most hurtful way possible. She was ashamed of herself. She looked out of the window, and saw Bernie, her back rigid, staring straight ahead of her. Serena sighed. As much as she hated admitting to being in the wrong, she would have to eat humble pie if she wanted a chance to salvage their relationship. Even though she wondered what kind of relationship it really was. Was Bernie expecting her to go to Sudan? Or was she just escaping, as she had done when she was with Marcus?

Serena went outside to join Bernie: "I shouldn't have said that. You know I didn't mean it. I love you."

"Do you?" replied Bernie bitterly. "Because right now I don't feel really welcome."

Serena extended her arms, and Bernie let herself be drawn into a hug… "You can only hurt someone you love. But I really didn't mean it. I AM sorry."

"I know you are", said Bernie. "And I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have told you like that."

"Maybe not – but I know your bedside matter isn't the greatest."

Bernie mock-punched Serena in the shoulder, and they embraced again.

Over wine and olives, Bernie explained the events of the previous months. Serena was horrified, but she managed to remain calm, and then they decided to shelve the topic for the time being and to enjoy their reunion.

During the first days, Serena dragged Bernie to all the local attractions – they went to the basilica, to Aix-en-Provence, to a jumble sale, a wine tasting and even to an ostrich farm. Finally, Bernie pleaded exhaustion and they settled down to a quieter pace. The heat was torrid and the pool was the best place to be. However, they were both aware that just beside the pool was a rather big elephant that was not going to remain ignored for long. One day, Serena couldn't stand it any longer: "So …Sudan? Really?"

Bernie felt torn. Part of her wanted to stay with Serena, to go back with her to England if this was her plan. She could always find another job, but …Was she really going to pass this opportunity to go back to army life? She knew they could really use her skills down there. She could make a difference. She wouldn't go back to a war zone – her body had recovered amazingly well, but she was not as strong as she'd been before her accident. Her neck still hurt at times, and she had less endurance. But most of all, she didn't think she could face the memories that would come with a return to Afghan. Alex-shaped memories. And she couldn't put Serena through the anxiety, the waiting. Sudan was safe – well, relatively so anyways.

Serena was waiting for her answer. "Yes, I think so. It feels like something I need to do", replied Bernie in a small voice. "I don't suppose you would consider coming with me ?"

Serena remained silent. Field hospitals were definitely not her thing, but she could have coped. She would have been with Bernie after all. Except that …she discreetly touched her breast. IT was there, ominous. Going to Sudan could be signing her death sentence. She got up and said: "Let's have a drink! I'm parched"

Bernie's stay was nearly over. She had decided to go directly to South Sudan. She would be joining the emergency department of the field hospital in Bantiu – they were nearly as well equipped as Holby, with a surgical theatre, a lab, scanners and isolation wards.

They were lounging beside the pool when Bernie's phone beeped. She reached for it, but Serena was quickest: "Just leave it! You're still on holiday – it's not the red phone announcing an onrush of casualties! No one is waiting for you to scrub in and get down to it !"

Bernie, her eyes half closed, answered lazily: "Maybe so, but – just have a look and see who's the message is from, will you ?"

Serena swiped the phone open, took off her sunglasses and looked at the screen: "I can't see anything in this sun…Wait …It says "The Husband" – I thought you'd gotten rid of that, dear …"

"I just never got down to changing the name on the phone, that's all. Marcus ?" said Bernie, frowning. "What can he possibly want ? We'd agreed to communicate only through our lawyers. Can you read me the message?"

Serena looked back at the screen and blanched – immediately, Bernie sprang up and snatched the phone from her.


	6. Chapter 6

As the online search had not yielded any results, Bernie decided to drive directly to the airport in Nice, where she hoped to be able to catch a flight to London asap. She threw her clothes into her suitcase – luckily, she travelled light, and put the suitcase in the boot.

Serena, who was hovering at the door, asked her: "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you down to the airport? You've had a shock – I don't want you to …well, remember what happened when Eleanor…"

"I'm not Eleanor; I've driven jeeps into Irak and Afghan, I can manage a rental car on the motorway."

"Yes, I'm sure, but …"

Bernie's face was frozen stiff, had been since she'd read Marcus' message. However, she had been through too much, and been trained too well for emergency situations not to hear the panic in Serena's voice. She tried to control her own emotions, and spoke as calmly as she could: "Don't worry about me – I'll be ok. I'll call you as soon as I know which plane I can board."

"I'll close the house, give the keys back to the rental agency and follow you to London," said Serena.

"You don't have to. Not until I know exactly what …what …"Bernie's voice faltered. Serena put her arms round her shoulders, and hugged her: "It will be all right – I'm sure she's going to be fine."

"You don't know that! You of all people should know there's nothing sure about this."

Serena's voice shook as she answered: "You're right – I shouldn't have said that – but I'll come to London anyways. I mean, I'll go back home to Holby, so I can come whenever you need me. I wasn't intending on staying here forever, you know. Not alone, with nothing to do…What are you going to do about Sudan?"

Bernie gave her a small smile: "I guess that was not on the cards – I'll have to phone the base from London. I really have to go now."

She gave Serena a quick kiss on the lips, grabbed her car keys and drove off. Her mind was working furiously – she'd tried to phone Marcus, but his phone was turned off. He must be at the hospital. Bernie didn't believe in karma, nor much in God, but it seemed like someone out there had it for her. People said bad luck happened in threes – first the Trauma unit closure, then this …what would be the next catastrophe? But maybe it had begun before, with Eleanor's death? Or when she'd been outed in front of the whole ward? Anyways, she had no time to think about this now. She just had to make sure she did not arrive too late…

She finally managed to find a seat on a non-direct Air France flight – it was far from perfect, but it meant at least that she would be able to arrive in London that evening. She was so tense she couldn't help wringing her hands, so much that the air hostess noticed and asked her if she was nervous of flying…In other circumstances, Major Wolfe would have found this funny, but she had to muster all her savoir vivre to say politely that she was not, but that it was kind of her to ask, and to thank her for her concern.

Meanwhile, Serena was packing furiously. She could not hope to travel as lightly as Bernie, for she'd been in Provence a lot longer, so she decided to drive her rental car to Paris, and to take the Eurostar from there. She had friends in Paris who could keep part of her luggage and send it on later. While she was tidying up, her mind was focused on only one thing – Eleanor's death. While she'd been in Provence, she'd decided that she should have another go at counseling sessions. There were a few English-speaking therapists in Aix-en Provence, but she knew that if she had to take the car and drive there, she would never honor her appointments. However, she'd found one that consulted on Skype, and it suited her better. It was hard at first, especially since silences are much harder to bear on Skype than in real life, but little by little she was able to open up about her relationship with her daughter, with her own mother, and to talk openly about Eleanor's death, and the guilt she felt. She should have been there – she should have made sure her daughter was all right. She should have told her about not being deputy CEO anymore. She should have told her about Bernie.

Christmas had been excruciating. It had begun rather well though. Eleanor had spent Christmas Eve at her father's, and Bernie's children were with Marcus, and so they'd been together, neither of them on call for once. Jason had left them alone, as he was playing WOW on his computer in his room for the whole evening. They had spent a cosy evening at her home, with plenty of shiraz, canapés and Belgian chocolate cake... Both quite exhausted from the hectic AAU schedule, they'd fallen asleep on the couch in front of Dr Who. As Bernie had remarked on the next day, they must have drunk more than they'd thought, because not even the screams of the brain-swapping aliens had kept them awake…Christmas day, however, was nightmarish. She had never been a big fan of Christmas – when she was a little girl, they had gone to her grandparents', who had all the warmth of Victorian undertakers. They could not understand that a child couldn't be expected to sit at a table for four hours, without talking – because children should be seen and not heard. The food had been stodgy, and there was no getting out of eating her sprouts – hateful things. And when she was a little older, she'd decided to become a vegetarian, and that did not go well either …She usually got useful presents, like socks or home-knit pullovers, for which she was supposed to write thank you letters.

Bernie had confided that since her mother's death, they had not celebrated Christmas at all when her father was not on external ops – it had been a day like all others, except that she was not at school but on whatever army base her father had been posted on at the time. When her father was on ops, she'd had to spend the festivities with another family on the base, or even at one of her teachers'. It did not make for very good memories… When her kids had been young, they'd spent it with Marcus' parents, who'd always managed to make her feel inadequate. If she'd contributed to the meal, Marcus' mother would say something like: "Very nice, dear, if a little over/under cooked – but of course your dear mother did not have time to teach you to cook, the poor thing." When she'd stopped contributing, her mother-in-law had changed her tune to : "I'm exhausted, but I so like to provide a nice meal for Christmas – of course I understand you didn't have time to help, but…" The kids had gorged on sweets and cake, and usually ended up the day sick. She had then spent two Christmases on mission, one in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, and she'd felt more comfortable there !

And so, in spite of themselves, they had great expectations for that Christmas –they wanted to have a lovely time and to. Everything had gone well in the morning – they'd both cooked a little, and dished out ready-made food too – they had had no intention of slaving in the kitchen. The presents for the kids were waiting under the tree. They'd already exchanged their gifts to one another, as they were a little too intimate for public disclosure … At noon, Eleanor had arrived, with a book for Jason, a poinsettia for her mother "because she already had everything anyways", and nothing for Bernie. And then she'd proceeded to ignore her pointedly. She had not been pleased to know they were waiting for Bernie's children to sit down to lunch. Cameron had arrived a quarter of an hour afterwards, alone – he'd mumbled that Charlotte had drunk too much on the previous night, and that she was feeling nauseous and not up to Christmas lunch. As he'd never been a good liar, an inquisitive stern look from Bernie got him to confess that Charlotte had said there was no bloody way she would spend Christmas at her "mother's whore" house. Bernie had gulped – she'd been terribly hurt – but she'd smiled and said that this way, there would be more pudding for everyone else. Cameron had done his best to keep the conversation going over the table, but his efforts soon petered out and apart from Jason, no one was really feeling festive anymore. Eleanor had sat there, toying with her food and answering Serena and Bernie's attempts at small talk by monosyllables. The meal had been mostly silent, Serena simmering over her daughter's rudeness and Bernie feeling as if once again, she'd been the one to spoil everything.

Right after lunch, Eleanor had jumped up and said she was going back to her father's, as she had mates to see, and Cameron had followed her soon afterwards, pretexting he had to do some studying for exams. Eleanor had accepted her mother's present – a nice cashmere jumper – but had pointedly left the bracelet Bernie had bought for her under the tree, still in its wrapping. Jason had gone back to his room and his game, and Bernie had sunk on a chair at the table, head in her hands. Not even the double scotch she and Serena had drunk could salvage the fiasco…

(to be continued)


	7. Chapter 7

When her plane landed at Charles-de-Gaulle, Bernie tried again to call Marcus, but his phone was still switched off. She couldn't even call the hospital, as his text hadn't mentioned which one it was. She couldn't help thinking that he had found a way to torture her and to take his revenge. He had accused her of not caring for the kids, but he knew very well what effect his text would have had on her. She strode across the airport to get on her next plane, fuming. Luckily for her, it was on time – she would be arriving in London around 8.00 pm.

Serena had finished packing, and she was driving on the Autoroute du Sud towards Paris. Her mind was focused on Bernie – she could imagine all too well was she was going through. She'd thought her work with the therapist had helped her come to terms with Eleanor's death, but this proved she had not. She was fervently hoping this was a nasty ploy from Marcus, and that the situation was not as critical as he had implied, but she knew it was probably wishful thinking. She had forgotten all about her personal worries for the moment – she just wanted to be there for Bernie as she'd been there for her. Whatever the outcome. Were there any situations where love didn't hurt ?

At 8.10 pm, Bernie was in the taxi queue at Heathrow. Her phone beeped – another text from Marcus : "Royal London Hospital, ICU; where are u ?" The Royal ? She frowned – why on earth ? At least she would be there in an hour or so. She felt so helpless – she couldn't stand situations where she was not in control, in action. In the taxi, she fidgeted with her phone, sent a message to Serena: "On my way to the Royal H" and another one to Marcus: "There in 1. Wait for me in reception. Hate u." She couldn't think about what awaited her, and she tried desperately to think about something else, but the only thing her exhausted mind could focus on was Eleanor's death. How telling Serena her daughter was in a critical condition had been the hardest thing she'd ever had to do in her life. What if …

Bernie alighted from the cab and strode into the hospital reception. Marcus was there, pacing up and down – she walked straight towards him, and he lifted his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips: "Well, look what the cat's brought him."

"Where is she ? What happened ?"

"She's in theatre right now – has been for the last four hours. She was brought in by an emergency ambulance. Apparently she was found in shock at a music festival, half-stoned. Her friends called the paramedics as she appeared to be in severe abdominal pain and confused. They didn't know for how long she'd been like that, because they were all under the influence of whatever they'd taken the night before. They called me, and I texted you. One of the docs came to update me an hour ago. On arrival, they performed a CT pelvic scan, followed by a transvaginal ultrasound and a pregnancy test. Ruptured ectopic pregnancy, around seven weeks after conception. She's had a major internal bleed – they had to remove the Fallopian tube, and they were trying to save the uterus…However, her heart is weak, and they're trying to stabilize her"

Bernie listened, ashen-faced, and sagged. This was not a procedure she's had to perform often, but she knew the risks. If the laparotomy was not done soon enough, the issue could be fatal. Drawing her breath, she said: "Did you know she was pregnant ?"

"I did not. And neither did she apparently – at least, she hadn't told her friends, and I can't imagine she would have smoked and drunk like that if she'd known…" Marcus tried to put his arms round Bernie's shoulders, but she shrugged him off, and went to sit down a little further. Mechanically, she took her phone from her pocket and sent a message to Serena: "At the hospital with Marcus – waiting in ICU. What about you."

Serena's reply pinged : "In Paris. Will be boarding the Eurostar tomorrow first train. How is she ?"

"Still critical. I'm worried"

"Love u." "Me too."

Serena was more than worried now – because if Bernie said she was worried, it meant she was frantic. Moreover, she still didn't know what exactly was wrong, and she hated to be in the dark.

Marcus came to sit beside Bernie: "Look, I'm sorry …" She lashed out at him: "Sorry ? What's the use of being bloody sorry? And what are you sorry for anyways? I don't imagine you had anything to do with her getting pregnant in the first place. Even you couldn't be that devious."

"God! Forgive me for trying to comfort you," answered Marcus. "But if we're trying to blame someone her, maybe I should blame you – obviously, you didn't talk to her much about contraception. Or maybe you were too busy playing soldiers to take care of that altogether…"

Bernie looked at him in shock: "You …you …you bastard!"

"Nice choice of word, Bern"

"She's 27, for God's sake!" Bernie turned away in disgust. The worst thing was that of course, she felt terribly guilty. Maybe she was to blame…

And this, maybe, was the third shock – she could have become a grand-mother in a few months…

(to be continued...)


End file.
